


Save The Last Dance For Me (But The Hangover Is Yours)

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Crack, Drunkenness, Lapdance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gives Sam a lapdance. Yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save The Last Dance For Me (But The Hangover Is Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink prompt: Dean is completely drunk and he keeps insisting on giving Sam a lap dance. Non-established relationship, gen(cest). Dub-con sloppy lap dance. Awkwardness :D Hangover and regrets the day after.
> 
> Not really "wincest" persae - you could even decide Dean's just drunk and Sam's just gritting his teeth to get through it. *shrugs*.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Dean’s pretty good at handling his liquor. Actually, he’s pretty damn _perfect_ at handling booze. He overdoes the whiskey? The scotch? Three cases of beer? All of it fine, lately there hasn’t even been a hangover to speak of.  
  
But then there was tequila. Dean always considered it a chick drink - he _still_ considers it a chick drink - but for whatever reason Sam was smuggling a bottle in his duffle which Dean just _happened_ to stumble across. Tasted like ass, but he drank the whole thing in a twenty minute sitting. If he was on _Dr. Phil_ or _Oprah_ he’d probably be going to an intervention, but Dean figures that hunting is a whole other ballpark than Daddy not hugging you enough. So he kept drinking until his vision blurred and he thought that he was on top of the world.  
  
Then Sam came in.  
  
He gave Dean a strange look, saw the empty bottle, and just rolled his eyes. Or at least that’s what Dean _thinks_ happened, tequila has this ability to make things look all strange - something he never knew. Should’ve paid more attention to the tequila-loving women he’s been with in the past. And undoubtedly will be with in the future.  
  
Dean continues to watch his brother cross the room and drop onto a chair at the tiny wooden table in their motel room. Sam immediately pulls his laptop from his case, presses something, and both Sam and the wall light up from the monitor’s hue. Dean urges his brain to command his legs to stand and they do, after a very definite delay, letting himself stumble across the room - kicks his shin on Sam’s appointed bed in the process, knows it’ll hurt in the morning - and drops awkwardly onto the chair across from Sam.  
  
Sam wrinkles his nose. “You smell like a brewery. Should take a shower, sleep it off.”  
  
Dean just shakes his head and leans heavily on elbows at the table. “What’cha researchin’?”  
  
“Nothing.” Sam slams the laptop closed and Dean eyes him suspiciously. Well, attempts to, not sure if that’s possible without sobriety. “Why were you going through my stuff?”  
  
Dean shrugs, the movement making his elbows give way sends him flying forward. Catches himself just in time. When he looks up, Sam’s on the verge of laughter.  
  
“Okay, scratch that - I don’t care. Too damn funny to watch you make an ass of yourself.”  
  
“You had _tequila_!” Dean says, “Knew you were a fuckin’ girl.”  
  
Sam shrugs. “Beats your five dollar beer.”  
  
Dean’s trying to point his finger gun-like in Sam’s direction, but his elbows skid across the table again and he decides to just work on sitting up, save the theatrics for a whiskey day. “Beer’s always good.”  
  
“Yeah, when you drink about twenty.”  
  
“No point havin’ less.”  
  
Sam shrugs again and lifts his laptop, placing it back into its case. Even drunk Dean knows Sam didn’t get it out for no reason.  
  
“Tryin’ to watch porn?”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, gives him a withering look. “Yeah, with you in the room. No. I was checking emails, Dean.”  
  
“Why not w’me in the room? We’re _brothers_.” He says it like that somehow makes everything in the world alright and irrelevant.  
  
“Think you managed to ruin your argument right there.” Sam stands, stretches. “Well, if you wanna stay up and watch porn, don’t let me stop you - I’ll go take a shower. Just don’t pass out and choke on your own puke or anything...”  
  
Dean thinks there might be a wary look on Sam’s face now, but he’s not really focusing on it. Instead the focus is back on his ability to walk as he uses the table for his weight, somehow half lurching, half shuffling around to Sam. Once there, and after he’s managed to steady the swaying, Dean reaches up and out to Sam’s shoulders and shoves his brother back into the seat.  
  
“Stay,” he says, like somehow Sam’s gonna listen to his drunken demands. Surprisingly enough, Sam hasn’t made any motion to move. Dean hasn’t exactly thought about what he’s going to do next. “Know what we need?” comes eventually, and then he answers his own question: “Music!”

He ambles off in the direction of one of the beds, fumbling over the bedside table until his finger finally collides with the button called ‘radio’. Music spills out and Dean furrows his brows trying to guess the name of the song, but it’s not coming to him. Some cheesy top-20 pop hit that may have flooded through the impala when Sam decided to employ the “driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole” rule for his own benefit. Too drunk to bother jiggling with the channel, Dean just shrugs and does some strange attempt at a saunter back to Sam.  
  
“Dean, what are you--”  
  
“Shh.” Dean cuts off and holds Sam down on the chair.  
  
Sam tries to move, but Dean’s surprisingly quick to rest his weight on Sam’s shoulders again and force him to stay there. More than anything the action is to keep himself upright as nausea crawls in his stomach and heat radiates through his body. Probably isn’t a smart idea, coming close to throwing up on Sam, but drunk-brain tells him there’s more important matters to be addressed.  
  
Like the music he actually seems to be liking right about now. A different song, just as cheesy, but a more upbeat tempo. Something in the back of his mind says he’s going to regret letting himself move to the song, but that’s pretty far down and easy to block out. His fingertips clench into Sam’s shoulders because his legs have started to give way, and when he finally finds Sam eyes he can read deep, horrified confusion there even in his compromised state.  
  
“Shut up,” Dean mutters.  
  
Dean’s actually not too sure what happens next (he’ll later read that tequila is the closest thing to brain bleach, so it makes sense), but he decides that he’s fallen against Sam’s lap. And it’s _fallen_ , no way in hell he actually sat there on his own free will. Sam tenses and his legs move forward, but Dean just digs hands into his brother’s shoulders and makes him stay.  
  
“Stay,” he even says.  
  
Sam’s got the bitchface of the century.  
  
But he stays.  
  
Like he said, memories are a blur of colour, and music, and a good deal of puke later in the night. What he does remember is another shift of song, something he recognises. U2, he decides after hesitation, but the song still isn’t being named from memory. Still upbeat, still makes him want to move. Hands gripping onto Sam as he does, until Sam must decide this is _too weird_ and Dean finds himself ass-down on the ground.  
  
He’s confused for a second, but it doesn’t hurt. Once he’s managed to understand just how legs and standing works, that’s just what he proceeds to do. Doesn’t make the mistake of sitting on Sam again, instead it’s just hands on shoulders and he stares at him. Finds correct muscles to grin and brushes his forehead against Sam’s before hooking his legs on either side of his brother’s to hold him steady (and himself, if he’s being honest here). Sam’s still staring at him like he’s grown a second head.  
  
“Y’know, I’ve watched...hundreds...of women do this.” He says, then hiccups and feels like he’s about to hurl again. Holds it back. “Doesn’ look so hard.”  
  
Sam’s eyes grow wide. “Dean -- no.”  
  
His grin widens. “Aw, c’mon Sam. Don’ think I c’n dance?”  
  
Sam tries to shove him off, but Dean’s holding tight. Squeezes hands onto fabric and legs onto legs. The chorus of the song picks up and Dean starts moving to it again, weight resting more and more on Sam as the seconds tick by. As they do, his shirt becomes restrictive and, hey, how many strippers actually stayed clothed during their act? When it’s gone he looks back down at Sam who’s arching his neck back and has got his hands toward the ground. Dean rolls his eyes, shakes his hand, and lifts from Sam’s knees. Thrusts himself towards Sam’s chest and starts laughing, but apparently thrusting and laughing aren’t compatible and he stumbles backward.

Sam takes this as his chance to push him away again, but Dean’s got a foot hooked behind Sam’s leg and he’s not going anywhere. He does need to balance, though, or they’re both going over. Uses Sam’s knees, because they’re the closest thing, and is effectively nose to nose, chest to chest with his brother. Grins even more.  
  
“Don’ have boobs,” he informs Sam, deadpan, like it’s new and important information, “but ’m _innovative_.”   
  
Dean presses his torso up against Sam. He might not exactly have a six-pack, but that’s to be expected with all the fast food, and he’s still in pretty good shape. Really.  
  
There’s absolutely nothing in his mind that tells him why he’s doing this. Nothing. And he _is_ trying to think. Trying to resign to himself it happens to be Sam _right there_ , but it feels more important for him to listen to the music instead. Was tequila the lovechild of a Djin?  
  
Sam makes a grunting sound and seems to be trying to unhook Dean’s foot from around his ankle. And Dean’s not sure if the tequila’s wearing off or he’s just learning to move with it - maybe Dean Winchester has a metabolism created for all alcoholic content - because he catches his brother fast enough to stop him.  
  
“Quit. It.” He tries to say both words separately, but they slur into one sound.  
  
“Get off me, Dean.”   
  
Dean thinks he sounds serious and scrunches up his face. He’s finding this freakin’ hilarious. Can’t understand why Sam doesn’t.  
Dean’s got enough balance restored that he can stand, but Sam’s not going anywhere. When he thinks back to it, Dean’s gonna question just why Sam isn’t more forceful. He’s got 3 inches and at least 10 pounds on him, but somehow Dean’s still got the upper hand as he turns, attempts that ass-move blonde stripper Jada tried on him the other night. Of course she also had training and sobriety, whereas Dean’s just got give-em-hell attitude, and he falls forward after about two seconds of attempting.  
  
Sam shoves him into bed shortly after this.  
  
~ ~  
  
When he wakes up its to blindly lurch for the toilet. Cold, cold porcelain worth more than whatever potential diseases lurked in motel bathrooms. Sam’s laughter reaches him after he’s hurled everything that lives in his guts, and the tequila burns on the way up. Definitely not doing that again. Not ever. From now on it’s pure bourbon all the way.  
  
“What do you remember?”  
  
Dean looks up to see Sam casually hanging at the bathroom’s door frame. “Fuck off,” he moans and lays his head against the wall again.   
  
His memory is shot, spotted and blurry, and it makes his head hurt and stomach churn. But he does remember, vaguely at least, the feel of Sam. That, to his complete and utter chagrin, attempted to give a fucking _lap dance_ to his little brother. He feels the heat rising in his cheeks and it’s not just another round of nausea.  
  
"Y'know," Sam drawls from the door where he hasn't moved, "You should consider taking up dancing professionally. Really could benefit our income.  
  
"Bite me," Dean groans.   
  
Then he realises his words, and Sam just cracks up into a round of laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Tracklist suggestions for Dean’s dance include:
> 
> \- Elevation by U2  
> \- Falling Down by Selena Gomez  
> \- Gangnam Style by Psy  
> \- You Better Run by Kesha  
> \- Sexy by French Affair  
> \- Raise Your Glass by Pink  
> \- Heartbeat by Scouting For Girls  
> \- My Religion Is You by Lady Gaga  
> \- Anything I Want by 3OH!3  
> \- Lovers by The Runaways


End file.
